Nightmare
by PiefaceMcGee
Summary: William has a not-so-pleasant dream involving a certain coworker...  One-shot, first-person, written on a whim. T for violence and blood.


I suddenly find myself in the Shinigami Library, and I don't know how I got there. It's far into the night, and everyone appears to have gone home long ago. But something is very, very wrong. The entire establishment looks and feels like it's been abandoned for decades, even though I had just left it like new, mere hours before. The building groans and creaks on its crumbling foundation. Decay saturates the stale air, wooden doors are rotting off their hinges, and the usually-pristine walls are host to suspicious and foreign stains. Furniture lies scattered about and in ruin. A shattered window lets in a cold draft, and I feel chilled.

I wander around the ruins in a sort of haze, numbly wondering what could have possibly transpired to bring such a nerve center of power, organization, and culture to such a quick and apparently grisly end. The sight of such devastation begins to unnerve me; suppose I came across the one responsible? As well-prepared and resourceful as I usually am, I have a feeling of awful certainty in my gut that I will not survive in that case. I slow my steps as I approach the cavernous entrance hall. It's very dark, and all I can see are my hands in front of my face. I pause, feeling a presence.

Suddenly, from above, I hear laughter and the sound of a motor droning. The laughter is that of a madman's, wild and unrestrained, hysterical, gleeful and fiendish, and it makes my skin crawl. I attempt to peer through the ink-black darkness to find its source, but the sound of the motor dies down before I can allow my eyes to adjust. Behind me, the same laughter sounds again, now accompanied by the clicks of someone's heels moving slowly across the marble floor. They are dragging things along with them; one sounds quieter, yet heavy, and other creates a metallic scraping sound. I turn and look, and watch as someone steps into a patch of faint moonlight.

I find myself looking into the familiar face of Grell Sutcliff. He stares me down with his crocodile grin, and even from a distance I can see blood flowing freely down his cheek. He smells strongly of it, and as I examine him, I see that he is completely painted with spatters of blood that is not his own. It stains his clothes, dries and clumps in his hair. One half of his entire face is caked in it. I take one wary step back, and he staggers forward, slowly tilting his head at me.

"Oh, hello, dear William," he says pleasantly, and sweeps his tongue across his upper lip to clean off some of the blood, clearly savoring the taste. "How kind of you to drop by." He leers and chuckles. I don't like it; despite the good-natured tone it feels much too ominous for Grell. It's not like him. "I do hope that the décor is to your liking."

"Is this your doing?" I ask him carefully.

His grin becomes wider, but when he speaks, he sounds disappointed. "Do you not like it?" He steps forward again, and his movements are slow and carefully precise. He lets out another hiccup of laughter, and I finally see what he is carrying when he drops one. A dead body, he had been dragging behind him by the hair, falls to the ground with a dull, wet thud. "How so, so very sad, William…I'd even brought you a present." He titters again, gesturing to the corpse beside him. I barely have to glance at it to recognize the mutilated frame of one of my coworkers. His eyes are still open, lips parted slightly. I shift my gaze to Grell's other hand, and he has been dragging his death scythe along the ground. The steel of the blade is still dripping blood, leaving a trail behind him.

I tighten my grip on my death scythe. He has completely lost his mind, and I have no doubt that I will have to fight him. I'd really rather not. "I don't want it."

He tilts his head the other way, closing his lips, still smiling. "Suit yourself."

I want nothing more than to leave as soon as possible. I turn on my heel to go, and his face is suddenly in mine, eyes wide and lethal teeth bared once more. "Leaving so soon?"

Startled, I jerk back, losing my footing and falling to the ground. Quickly, I edge away from him and get back up onto my feet, palms becoming slick. Grell covers his mouth with a hand to suppress a new wave of laughter, but does a poor job of it, soon doubling over in a fit of crazed mirth. I take the opportunity to continue backing away, while the man in front of me attempts to form a sentence. "So — so _cold_, William, you — you're awful, trying to leave without saying goodbye — you don't like anything I worked so hard for — you're _terrible_ — I didn't want to, William —" He suddenly jerks back up, laughter stopping abruptly, and he begins fumbling blindly with his death scythe, keeping his gaze on me. "I'll — I'll have to take care of you, as well." The death scythe roars to life, spraying the blood off of it, and the strong smell of petrol fills the air.

I back right into a wall of cold marble. He slowly advances, raising the death scythe into the air. "Goodbye, William."

He lunges forward, and I dive to the side. I fall heavily, but claw my way back upright. Behind me, I hear a sickening crunch as the scythe tears effortlessly into the marble. The death scythe protests and stalls; it's trapped in the wall. I waste no time in fleeing.

Grell curses and plants a foot on the wall, yanking at the death scythe with all his might. It suddenly dislodges, sending him sprawling onto his back. The scythe lands with a clatter, but in the next moment, he scrambles for it and jumps back up.

Suddenly, he's right in front of me again, raising the scythe again, laughing. Instinctively, I lash out with my own scythe and it clips him across his upper arm, tearing both fabric and flesh. He freezes, then stares down in shock at the blood that pools up out of the wound. I don't stay to watch, I must keep running. I must survive.

"You _hit_ me, William. How could you? _How could you_?"

No matter where I turn, he's always there in front of me, and I must strike him again and again. Hit him and run, hit him and run. Each time, he seems to care less about the damage I deal, and he begins to laugh, laughing while he watches himself _bleed_. The wounds I inflict would have long ago killed a human, but it's much, much harder to kill a Grim Reaper, especially so a Reaper with Grell's vitality.

I'm running again, and I turn a wrong corner, into a dead end. There is no window at the end of this short hallway. I try the doors, and they are locked. No amount of force will make them budge. I turn to escape the hallway, but Grell is already there, blocking my only exit. I must prepare to fight him again.

Before I can even brace myself, he is already there, the rotating blade of his death scythe quickly and easily knocking my own out of my hand, beyond my reach. I don't even have time to blink — Grell pounces and pins me down onto my back. The death scythe is still droning, the blade inching closer to my throat. He leans closer and smiles sympathetically down at me. "What a shame, William. This game has been so fun, but it's already at its end. I wish you'd survived a little longer, but I don't think that I'd catch you again if I let you go." I can only stare helplessly up at him. Hope in vain that he's joking.

"Why?" I ask as a last resort. He keeps smiling and ignores me. He bares his teeth one final time, leering.

"_Adieu_, William."

And then he kills me, and I wake up in a cold sweat.

* * *

_Welllll, that was cheerful, eh? To explain where this came from, I was crack-RPing with a friend, and somehow we decided to tell scary stories. I wanted to make one up for William, who I was using to RP with, and thought it would be a nice opportunity to write a different Grell than I'm used to writing. Which is nutso-crazy-blood-lust-Jack-the-Ripper Grell. And it was a boatload of fun. I would love to write Grell like that again sometime. What do you think? Reviews, once more, are eternally loved. :D_


End file.
